


the dress, the wife, and the wardrobe

by karnsteins



Series: the bad decisions that we made [2]
Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Cherry Valence, Alpha Dallas Winston, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Crossdressing, Drunk Sex, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mafia!Dallas Winston, Slick Kink, omega ponyboy curtis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins
Summary: cherry left dallas and the expansive apartment they own, rich in rooms, secrets, and a very deep closet. ponyboy has never seen such expensive things in his life; and dallas doesn't really give a fuck.or: dallas, pony, a nice dress, and fucking in your ex-wife's closet.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston
Series: the bad decisions that we made [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113230
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	the dress, the wife, and the wardrobe

**Author's Note:**

> if it matters: dallas and cherry are legally married but not divorced due to the fact that if you divorce your spouse, you can testify against them. emotionally, they're very out of each other's lives.

the closet is bigger than ponyboy's childhood room in tulsa. that's the first thing he ever thought about it when he entered it, eyes wide. the second thing that he thought was that it was overflowing with clothes, the one place in the apartment that really still retained cherry's sharp scent. it stood to reason that dallas avoided it more than any place else in the apartment, as sprawling as it was. 

the first few weeks, when he and dallas were still friends, as it were, he hadn't ventured in. hadn't done anything more than peer curiously at it before he'd gone to the guest room, curled up by himself. the apartment still was too big, too full of secrets he hadn't quite understood at the time in order for him to do much more than be curious. it hadn't been his place. 

things changed, though. he and dallas were much more than friends now, more than lovers even. the apartment gave up it's secrets like dallas, from the places where he'd found money hidden behind it, drugs behind panels, jewelry that he was sure cherry could never afford with that bullshit job he'd heard her say. and once dallas had told the full truth to him, everything took on a different look: money, funded by mafia exploits, a show of wealth from cherry, that she had wanted to mold for them. things she had left when she and dallas had broken, and things that she still hadn't claimed back. 

one of those things was the closet. he'd found himself venturing in one day, simply out of curiosity. looking at the minks — black, white, even a red one — the dazzling dresses, the clothes so expensive that they were hidden behind plastic film or black zip ups, the shoes lined up neatly, the drawer full of glittering jewelry that she had left behind. even the money, still folded up carefully in nooks and crannies remained. 

his fingers glided over all of them, squinting behind his glasses at them. there had been books that had described riches to him before, and none of them quite compared to this. there were boundless questions he had: if she could walk away from all of _this,_ what else did she have? what was she keeping that they didn't know about? how much money had she kept, in it all? how much money did dallas really have? and… why didn't he just throw it out? 

he'd been more than clear about his feelings on cherry, and in snatches of conversation ponyboy had heard, so had cherry. there was nothing but hurt feelings, animosity, anger between them now. they weren't divorced — something legal lie there — but they weren't mated. even dallas didn't have to spell that one out: middle class, rich girls didn't mate. they thought themselves above that, that had always been something he'd known. he'd been a little shocked when they'd gotten married all those years ago, without that. 

maybe he shouldn't have. 

sometimes, he comes to the closet for a little bit of quiet, just to read if the rest of the apartment was a little too noisy, if he didn't want to clean up and, a few times, his eyes had wandered over to the minks. the urge to take them for a nest was overwhelming sometimes — he'd never touched something so soft in his entire life. 

there remained unsureness about it all, as things changed. still, he ventured in every so often, to have a quiet moment, still liking to be inside of it, but not really wanting to touch to claim. 

that changes one afternoon when he wakes up to feeling dallas' hand on his shoulder, his scent rolling over him. dallas had been gone for a few days, only telling pony that where he was going, it wasn't too far. he and two bit had left. ponyboy had assignments to work through, the apartment felt too big, and the closet the exact size, insulated and quiet. he'd drifted off. 

his vision focuses on dallas' face — taking in the scent of dallas, mingled with cigarettes and what he was sure was blood and gun oil — his hair hanging into his eyes, expression concerned but soft. "what're you doing in here, pone?" his hand moves from pony's shoulder to his cheek, "was looking all over for you." 

"jus' sleepin'," ponyboy clears his throat, sitting up a bit. "it was quieter in here." he shifts up, realizing that one of the minks he'd been leaning against has fallen, keeping him cozy and warm. "shit— sorry—"

"no, it's okay if you're in here," dallas misunderstands, shrugging his shoulders, "this shit ain't mine and she's not coming back for it." he moves closer, kissing pony briefly, tension running out of his shoulder. "just, shit, i thought—" 

ponyboy leans closer, catching dallas' mouth now, firmer, not even parsing the words yet. "no— no, just been here." he kisses him again, trying to reassure dallas, inhaling that scent on him again, relaxing himself. dallas slots himself against ponyboy then, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, that spark of roughness flaring up. 

it's only when he pushes the mink back that ponyboy realizes what dallas has actually said. he decides to ask later, pulling back from dallas enough to ask, "do— have you had dinner? i'm hungry." 

dallas laughs against his mouth. "kid, i ordered food ten minutes ago. c'mon." he helps ponyboy stand up, and they walk out. dallas kicks a pair of shoes out of the way with the same roughness he uses to kick away a ball and ponyboy keeps that in mind as they leave. 

from there the days go on. he spends a little more time in the closet, knowing that dallas doesn't mind it, that's it's not a sacred place anymore. it's like the other rooms in the apartment now: _theirs_. in fact, he begins to notice that whenever dallas comes to find him there, he's not hesitant to knock things over, to flick things away or to be rough with cherry's things. even the money, when he finds a roll of it, dallas simply tucks it into ponyboy's pocket, flinging some of the expensive looking rings in the box away with a scowl. 

a few weeks after that day dallas says he's fine with him in the closet, ponyboy finds himself back in there, fingers running over some of the clothes. it's a cool afternoon, the closet is warm, and now that he's had permission…

something in him wants to know. he peels away the clothes one after the other: makes himself familiar with the colors, the materials. the only time he'd seen anything close like this was department stores. his hand pulls at one dress in particular: it's a soft nightdress, in white. there's a slit up the side, the end of it in a lace pattern in a curve that went along the entire side. the dress is soft beneath his fingers, and as he touches it, he wonders how many times did cherry wear this? how many nights did she slip it on and then slip out of it? did she miss it? he didn't even want to think about how much it probably cost to buy. 

he moves away from it. there are so many dresses in here that are glossy, in an array of colors, varieties. the shoes are almost as numerous, and the jewelry, he finds he doesn't care much for as he goes through it. there are mostly rings, some necklaces here and there. they're all too small for his hands, or hang too loosely on his wrists the few that he dares try on. 

curiosity sated, ponyboy thinks of the closet, slowly, as just another place in the apartment. the apartment in and of itself was a symbol of many, many things. mostly a marriage that had dissolved over night, that dallas held onto only because he had to. a place that dallas didn't like, and didn't care for, and one he didn't mind being changed beneath his hands or ponyboy's. the first time ponyboy had made a mess on the floor, accidentally smashing a vase in the midst of a drunken recounting of the time he'd seen a classmate argue something that was plainly wrong, he'd frozen, staring at dallas. the vase had been so expensive, and he thought dallas would maybe reach over, slap him against the head, berate him. 

instead dallas had shrugged, reached over, shoved another vase off of the table. it had smashed, loud, and ponyboy had gone from staring in disbelief to understanding in a moment what he had meant. 

the couch usually took the most of that kind of abuse: bloodstains had been only halfway scrubbed out to make it clean not to make it look decent; holes in the walls had been repaired only lazily; a chair that had a leg broken out had books shoved under it to make it sit right; a picture frame had broken, and the piece of the frame had been used to keep a window open when a night had been too hot. it just didn't quite matter that the apartment, in all it's perfect chic decor, stay that way. while it wasn't exactly dirty per se (ponyboy wasn't a _pig_ ), the things that broke it's decor, that tarnished that perfect look of it all, made it all the more their place than hers and dallas'. 

maybe ponyboy shouldn't enjoy that so much. but he does, the way that they make this place theirs. maybe it's omega instincts flaring in response to it all, maybe it's the fact that dallas smiles when he does it or shrugs, only making him sweep up the pieces of a vase. maybe it's just salaciously enjoyable that when dallas pushes him on what was supposed to be their marriage bed, and he looks in his eyes, growls against his ear when dallas fucks him on that bed, knots him in a way that ponyboy has never expected to be enjoyable that he doesn't want to give this up, doesn't want to give dallas up. cherry had left; ponyboy stayed.

in any case, though, the place is theirs. that includes cherry's things that she leaves. eventually, he brings his books, his drinks into the closet, making it function as a second nest almost. 

this night, he's drinking gin when dallas stumbles into the apartment. he's not sure how much he's had, except when dallas opens the door, he can smell booze on him too, and his mouth tastes like whisky when they kiss. his hands find their way into dallas' hair easy, pulling him down into the array of clothes beneath him. dallas stumbles, and ponyboy lets go with a laugh when dallas folds into him, laughing. 

"how much have you had?" ponyboy laughs, his glasses halfway off of his face, hand not leaving dallas' hair quite yet, and not getting any answer but dallas' hand reaching up to cup his cheek, another kiss pressed to his mouth. it's heavier, more demanding than the last. he nips at dallas' lips this time — both of them groaning when the smell of slick permeates the air. 

things blur: dallas' hand pushing ponyboy's shirt off, ponyboy undoing dallas' button on his jeans, both of them helping the other out of their clothes. dallas' scent washing over him, ponyboy admiring the way his chest looks, scars and all. seeing how dallas' eyes focus on pony's chest, the careful way he gets ponyboy out of his boxers. the way they both surge forward for a kiss — only for ponyboy to hit dallas a little hard, teeth meeting teeth and both of them dissolving into laughter.

"that hurt?" dallas' voice softens, still laughing as his hand runs up ponyboy's hips, touch warm against pony's school skin. 

"mm, no," ponyboy pulls back just enough to shift beneath dallas, leaning against the soft nest of clothes beneath him. he tugs dallas down; he comes easily, head placed against ponyboy's shoulder, tongue already seeking out the mating spot on his shoulder. his teeth nip at it, ponyboy shivering. "guess you're stayin' in for the night?"

dallas gives a derisive little snort, breath fanning out warmly on ponyboy's skin. "you think i'd stay out with them when i got you here?" he gives another nip at ponyboy's mark, hard enough to make ponyboy whimper, the smell of slick sharpening again. "all slicked up for me, waiting for me to get home like a good mistress." the last two words are said sarcastic; ponyboy knows a bit about their views, their talks. 

he laughs, the idea not sparking derision so much as it makes his eyes fall onto the clothes, the nightgown from before. an idea sparks in his head that he wouldn't think he'd consider sober, but now, a little buzzed, seems like a good idea. he nudges dallas off before his hand can move any further down ponyboy's thighs. "guess i'd better look the part, huh?" dallas shoots him a quizzical, slow drunk look as ponyboy squirms from under him, moving to sit up. it takes a moment to stand, finding the nightgown. 

dallas' brows furrow, not quite understanding for a moment. ponyboy doesn't blame him; he's never done this before, taking the nightgown from the hanger, pulling it off with careful fingers. even drunk, he understands how expensive the material is. it has every right to be: when he slips it over his head, it's _soft_ , light. it settles on his shoulders, even if it bulges at parts. cherry was smaller than him even if he was tall for an omega. the shoulder straps can't stay up, and yet when he smooths down the sides, he feels decidedly… nice. 

the expression on dallas' face is not one of happiness when ponyboy refocuses on him. it's that intense, aware look that he rarely has when this drunk. every bit of him is tense now, mouth half open, canines exposed. the flat pink of his tongue shines a bit as he stands up—

and then, before ponyboy can think of something to say, anything to say, dallas is cupping his cheek, nails sharp in their grip. he's kissing ponyboy rough, and there's no doubt in his mind that dallas likes this, not with the way his other hand drags ponyboy closer. he'd wanted to make a comment, wanted to sarcastically ask, _is this what they meant?_ but it's not something he's got time to say anymore, not with the way dallas's cock slides against the thin material between them, the way ponyboy can feel slick gliding down his thigh, with the absolute _need_ between them now. 

never in his life has he considered wearing a woman's clothes or what it would mean until now. women haven't exactly been his area of expertise given he wasn't exactly interested in women as partners and never growing up with a sister. it just hadn't been something to be much curious about but as dallas kisses him, pulling pony closer, as he relishes the feeling of the fabric on his cock, he realizes that maybe he should have done this awhile back, even if it was just in a moment like this.

the way dallas' hand drags up his leg on the open slit, nails in his skin makes pony whine against his mouth, the sensation making his arousal flare more with every little spark of pain. "dal— fuck, just— i know what you want—" 

they both do. dallas' teeth sink into his bottom lip again, fingers moving beneath the dress now, not bothering to be gentle or taking his time when he pushes into pony's slicked up hole. pony shudders, swears and drags his fingers down dallas' side with the stretch. he rocks his hips as dallas pumps his fingers, sharp and intent, wanting it to just be this—

then dallas pulls his fingers out, growling low in his throat. whatever sense of foreplay just isn't there anymore, not when he pushes pony back to the floor. pony goes easy, knowing what dallas wants, what he always wants, what pony loves to give him. it's just never been like this before as he goes on his hands and knees, dallas pushing the dress up to bunch around his hips. 

the sensation feels so _new_ to him, the way it bunches around his middle. he thinks briefly wondering if he ever did this with her — and then grins knowing no, not like this. she didn't have slick, dallas never would have been so ravenous for her.

the instant dallas' breath washes over ponyboy's skin, he groans. he doesn't care about being hard, the pulse of his cock between his legs. he absolutely needs what comes next more: the feeling of dallas' hands parting his ass, the feeling of the flat of his tongue against his hole. he doesn't gasp; he wrenches out dallas' name, with how good his tongue feels against him. the amount of slick coming out of him just doesn't seem to matter much to dallas as long as it's there. 

of everything it's dallas' favorite thing. curly had seen slick as just something that aided fucking; dallas has always been eager more for this than even knotting pony. ponyboy rocks against him, dallas growling as he does it. the vibrations make ponyboy shiver, more slick gliding out of him, his head pressed against a dress that looks dizzyingly bright in the closet. 

dallas licks and licks, relentless in his strokes, loving every slide of it down his throat, every warm bit of it on his mouth. ponyboy starting to writhe, needing more. once, dallas slaps his ass, growling something that sounds close to stop--and then he's back, tongue insistent on making pony cum. and he does, moments later, thighs shaking, cock spurting rather uselessly into the clothes beneath them. the dress is hiked higher—

"da- dal—!" ponyboy groans out when he feels dallas' tongue finally push inside of him, finally feels something inside. it drives him crazy, finally feeling some stretch, even if it's not as deep as he likes, and this time he doesn't do anything except slick up even more when dallas slaps his ass again. he thinks he asks for more, unsure of which thing he wants. 

it doesn't much matter when he feels dallas slip two fingers in him at once, then a third. ponyboy can't keep up on his hands when another orgasm hits him, vision blurring out to white, body utterly electric under dallas. he feels weightless, disconnected from anything else except the wave of pleasure, only coming to, gasping at the feeling of dallas' teeth sinking into his right thigh, growling out, "ain't done yet, pony." 

ponyboy has enough in him to pant out, "you better not be. kinda mistress would i be, passing out after just two?"

dallas laughs, his tongue laves the bitemark on ponyboy's thigh. it's stubbornness, pride, and need that has ponyboy getting back up, loving the way dallas' hand feels against the small of his back, pushing the dress right back up for more. his fingers dig into an expensive jacket beneath him, and he sighs when dallas' tongue meets his hole again.

they never make it to the bed that night. ponyboy wakes up in the morning with the nightgown simply bunched up around his middle, the mating mark pulsing from the night before. dallas' arm is thrown around his waist, mouth pressed against his ear, still asleep, leg tangled up with ponyboy's own. ponyboy's mouth feels dry, stomach empty, and when he rolls over to press his own face into dallas' neck, he can't help but grin to himself the mating mark on dallas' shoulder, that is probably just as red as his own. 

his fingers trace it carefully, slowly and hopes that cherry never shows her face here again.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments, kudos, hit me up at tumblr, i'm @madeleinepryor.


End file.
